Prelude: The Day Our World Began Changing
A little about us that you should before we begin -
I am Nisha.
Married to Jerrin.
And this is the story of our little warrior.
I am a Hindu, a Tambrahm.
Jerrin is a Roman Catholic.
Our journey of becoming one… was a story in itself.
We met.
We fell in love.
And then we fought.
For five years.
Five years of convincing, waiting, holding on, and choosing each other again and again until our families finally gave us the green signal to get married.
Those five years shaped us.
They tested us.
But they also taught us something we carried into every phase of our life after that.
That we are in this together.
We took our vows, in happiness, in sadness, in health, and in sickness… not fully knowing then that “health and sickness” would come to mean something far beyond just the two of us.
And then…
life gave us Neil.
There are moments in life that arrive quietly, almost casually, and yet, in hindsight, you realise they changed everything.
14th March 2024 was one such day.
I took a pregnancy test.
And I saw those magical two lines.
I couldn’t believe it.
I took another test.
And then another.
Two lines. Again.
And yet… I wasn’t ready to accept it.
So I made Jerrin take the test.
Just to check if the strips were actually working.
Looking back now, it feels almost funny.
But maybe that was our baby already.
Making us do things no one would imagine.
Making his presence known in his own way, right from the very beginning.
We discovered we were no longer just two.
We were becoming three.
There was no dramatic reaction, no overwhelming rush of emotion in that instant. Just a strange pause. A silence filled with disbelief, joy, and the weight of something we couldn’t yet fully understand.
We had just returned from Rajasthan and Delhi, celebrating the wedding of someone close to us, completely unaware that through that entire journey, a tiny life had already begun its own journey within me.
Life had already moved ahead of us.
The months that followed felt gentle. Comforting. Almost kind.
There was rhythm in our days, a quiet sense of responsibility in everything we did. Jerrin and I went about our routines with a shared awareness that every small decision now mattered.
We weren’t just living for ourselves anymore.
We were carrying someone with us, in every step, every choice, every breath.
We were careful.
We were hopeful.
We were happy.
And like most parents-to-be, we imagined a full-term journey. We read, we planned, we looked forward to milestones we thought we understood.
But life doesn’t always unfold the way you prepare for it.
On the morning of August 31st, 2024, everything shifted.
It was an ordinary Saturday. The kind of morning you don’t expect anything significant from.
We sat down for tea, speaking about mundane things. I remember casually asking Jerrin to clean the fridge, clearing out what we didn’t need, preparing for the week ahead. Our parents were to arrive soon. The house was getting ready for the Seemantham planned on 8th September.
We were preparing to celebrate.
Instead, life decided to move faster than we could.
Unexpectedly, my water broke at home.
There was no panic at first. No sense of urgency. I remember thinking this was probably something minor, something the doctor would check and send us back home for.
I even took a bath.
I got ready slowly.
Unaware that we were already stepping into a completely different reality.
When we reached the hospital, the words came quickly and without cushioning.
“You are in labour. You need to get admitted right now.”
What followed was not what we had imagined for ourselves.
There was no calm transition into parenthood.
There was anxiety.
Uncertainty.
And a kind of fear you cannot prepare for.
The doctors explained the plan, to delay the delivery as much as possible. To give our baby more time. More strength. More chance.
The next 24 hours were intense.
Magnesium sulphate.
Steroid injections.
Monitoring.
Waiting.
Hoping.
We held on to every extra hour we could give our baby.
Four days passed like this, stretched between hope and helplessness.
Until the moment came when the doctors had to make the decision for us.
My amniotic fluid had almost depleted.
My CRP levels had risen sharply.
The risk of infection was too high.
To protect him… they had to bring him out.
On 5th September 2024, at 11 a.m., I was taken into the operation theatre.
The anxiety was different now. Heavier.
We didn’t know what to expect.
We didn’t know what waited on the other side.
All we knew was this, we just wanted our baby to arrive safely.
At 12:04:54 p.m., our son entered the world.
And in that moment… everything changed.
I still remember his cry.
Strong. Clear. Alive.
I remember the doctor’s voice, steady and reassuring,
“It’s a boy. He is crying very well. Don’t worry.”
That cry became our first anchor.
Because here’s the truth no one really prepares you for.
Premature birth is a world of its own.
When you’re expecting, you read about full-term pregnancies. You prepare for due dates, hospital bags, feeding schedules, first nights at home.
You think you know what’s coming.
But almost no one prepares you for what happens when your baby arrives early.
There are fewer conversations.
Fewer stories.
Fewer guides to hold your hand through what comes next.
And maybe that’s why, when it happens, you step into it unprepared.
Unsure.
Overwhelmed.
But sometimes, the most unexpected beginnings create the most extraordinary journeys.
This is ours.
This is the story of Neil Saiesh.
A lifetime in eighteen months.
A story of strength.
Of resilience.
Of a little boy who came early… but lived fully.
And this is where it begins.
